Product Placement
by hiding duh
Summary: Shou/Kyouko. Shou's written a new song. And he wants Kyouko in the PV.


**Title**: Product Placement  
**Characters**: Shou/Kyouko  
**Summary**: Shou's written a new song. And he wants Kyouko in the PV.  
**Rating**: PG  
**Notes**: Awww, no one likes this guy. Also, I feel like 90 percent of their dialogue should be written in CAPS, but I'll spare you.

* * *

He was brilliant.

So brilliant he was genuinely surprised astronauts hadn't named a galaxy after him. Or were those meteorologists? Astronomers...?

Either way, he was a genius.

Seventeen point eight times better than those stupid Beagles. Twenty times more talented than that freaking giant, Tsuruga. _Infinitely_ superior to Kyouko.

"—oh, and can you please keep a distance of ten meters at all times?" he drawled, striding down the studio hallway, an irritated Kyouko in tow. "I worry your lack of talent is contagious."

A toxic aura seemed to be radiating off her, as though thousands of risen demons were slithering around her stiff shoulders, so he quickly added a pious, "Your agency _begged_ me to hire you, so let's just get this over with, okay?"

Tiny cracks appeared along the walls she slunk by, but Kyouko remained uncharacteristically silent.

Shou grinned, pleased. "Did someone finally cut out your tongue or something?"

"Too upset to talk," she grit out dangerously, moving ahead of him, her pink monstrosity of a uniform swishing most appallingly.

"That's not very professional," he pointed out coolly, squinting lest he went blind.

She froze in her tracks, eyes widening. Hastily, she grabbed for her cell phone and dialed, whispering around her hand, "Tsuruga-san? Tsuruga-san, I'm so sorry! I've failed you aga—"

Expressionless, Shou clicked Kyouko's phone off, fingers tightening around the small screen. "Rule number seven. No cell phones on set."

"But—"

They hadn't even rounded the nearest corner when her ringer went off with the sort of urgency that made both of them jump.

Livid, Shou quickly snatched the phone away, turned the volume off, then pocketed it with a curiously possessive huff. "That guy's got nothing to do with this, you idiot! Are you a professional or NOT?"

"Who wants to hear this from YOU," she retaliated darkly, bangs falling over her eyes. "You, who lost to the BEAGLES—"

"THAT WAS ONLY A TEMPORARY SETBACK—"

"ONCE IS ENOUGH—"

He could feel an aneurysm forming somewhere in his brain, so he hastily reached into his ripped jeans and produced a glossy compact foundation, waving it in front of her face. "Kyouko. This is Shiseido's Smoothening Pearl 2000 with Royal Jelly Extract. New on the market. You can have it when we finish filming."

Immediately distracted, she swayed to the metronome of his obvious bait, lovingly eyeing the makeup dangling between his thumb and forefinger.

Desperately trying to suppress a guffaw, Shou quickly guided her around a mass of wires, nodding at a few lingering crewmen. "Okay, they'll deliver your script soon, so go get me coffee."

Her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. "You don't drink coffee."

Pleased that she remembered, Shou gave her an aloof wave. "Didn't say I was going to drink it."

"Then why do you WANT IT?" she argued, invading his personal space. "Waste not, want not!"

"Who's wasting what—except time that you could be spending BY THE COFFEE MACHINE," he barked back.

Suddenly, she pulled away, frantically searching her pockets. A small doll tumbled into her hands, and a large needle appeared out of nowhere, aiming for the doll's suspiciously familiar head. "What do you say, should we go lower?" she asked no one in particular, eyes gleaming dangerously.

Mildly concerned, Shou placated her by stuffing the compact into her hands and secretly pocketing the doll for future analysis.

She appeared dazed and ridiculously happy for a moment, before tilting her head and asking, "Has filming finished already?"

A congregation of assistant girls popped out of a nearby storage room, saving him from answering. "Fuwa Shou! It's Fuwa Shou! It's really him! Take a picture!"

Puffing out his chest, Shou waited for Kyouko to notice his massive popularity, then grew annoyed once he realized she was paying more attention to the makeup.

"You're right," he mumbled, promptly stealing it back. "We haven't finished filming yet."

Kyouko didn't complain, but she'd looked at her empty palm with such a mournful expression that Shou suffered a brief bout of insanity and almost ran out to buy her an entire Shiseido counter.

Instead, he made himself snap out of it and bestowed his fangirls with sly sideways glances, preening as though the mere fact that he deigned to smirk in their general direction would sustain them for an eternity.

Or at least through lunch.

"Fuwa Shouuuuu," they swooned in return, chanting his name and repeatedly snapping pictures.

Kyouko offered him an angelic smile, noting, "Did you know that every time someone says your full name, your life is shortened by ten seconds?"

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever—hey, everyone! Shut up!"

The nearest rows of fangirls shrank back, muttering darkly as they disappeared down a narrow corridor.

Quickly composing himself, Shou gestured in a wide arc, cocking a haughty eyebrow. "If you won't get me coffee, get yourself something to eat."

Kyouko glanced at the craft table dubiously. "Why?"

Baffled, Shou blinked. "What do you—just eat something. It's free. I'm being nice." When she only stared at him as though he'd told her to jump into a vat of acid, he grabbed a shiny red apple and gruffly thrust it at her.

She gave him a horrified look, examining the thing. "If I eat this, I'll die of poisoning."

"It's an APPLE. Apples are GOOD for you, you moron!"

"How is DYING GOOD FOR ME?"

"JUST EAT IT."

"I DON'T WANT TO."

"EAT."

"NO—"

Shaking with rage, he slapped the apple out of her hand, deftly caught it before it smacked back onto the table, then took a vicious bite, growling around the seeds, "See, it's just a—"

Huh. So this was what choking felt like.

Shou lurched forward automatically, gasping for air that refused to go down his esophagus.

"See! I knew it! It's full of poison like in that story—" Kyouko shouted, pointing an accusing finger, then paused to watch him turn several shades of blue. "Shoutaro?"

She looked torn for the briefest of moments, contemplating the situation, then narrowed her eyes, hunched her back a little, and—

— kicked his chest with the force of a pro-wrestler on steroids.

The apple dislodged from his throat, and the moment air filled his lungs, he used it to roar out an outraged, "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU."

She twitched, gaze crackling with menace. "You're welcome."

He frantically patted down his ribs. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"If you die," she began and her eyes grew even darker, raising goosebumps along the back of his neck, "I'll have to follow you to hell to get my revenge and I'm worried that stupid beagle will be there, waiting for me. So, don't die."

Taken aback, Shou could only stare at her. Then slowly, a terrible, wholly satisfied, grin stretched his lips. "Okay."

And with that, he started for the set, appearing casual but feeling oddly lightheaded.

Hesitantly, Kyouko caught up to him, poking her head above his shoulder. "Um, I haven't met the director yet. Is he late?"

Shou bonked her on the head, "_I'm_ the director, stupid."

Instead of praising him like he'd expected her to, she doubled over in the nearest corner, laughing hysterically. She wiped away a tear, pointing at him. "You? I wouldn't let you direct _traffic_."

He straightened. "After the last Vie Ghoul incident, I've taken control over every aspect of my work."

She grew instantly serious. "What's my role, Mr. Director?"

"I don't know," he lied, suddenly wary. "Some peasant extra or something."

A gently reprimanding voice echoed behind him. "Fuwa-san, you should be nicer to your girlfriend"

"THAT THING IS NOT MY GIRLFRIEND."

"WHO WOULD DATE THAT IDIOT."

Shouko, standing tall and clutching a script to her chest, bowed slightly before Kyouko. "It's a little late, but please read through your lines, Mogami-san. We'll start in half an hour."

"Ah, thank you, Shouko-san!" Kyouko smiled brilliantly, bowed deeply in appreciation, then quickly disappeared with the script.

Looking stern, Shouko leveled her eyes with Shou's. "It wasn't easy getting Mogami-san for this PV."

Shou motioned a random assistant over, heading for the director's chair.

Shouko sighed, but proceeded to wait beside him patiently, watching Kyouko in the distance as she immersed herself in the thin stack of pages.

When Kyouko returned, several minutes later, her eyes were suspiciously bright. "Are you sure you wrote this, Shoutaro?"

Shou gave her a glare, then sent her off for costume and makeup.

* * *

"—so, you understand, Mogami-san?" one of the assistants asked nervously. "You'll be playing a doll whose owner is not coming back. So, um, we don't really need you to channel Mio for this—"

Deadly miasma dissipating, Kyouko nodded eagerly, kneeling on a plush bed with so much propriety that Shou felt personally obligated to stroll over and smack the script out of her hands. "Do it like this: the first part is happy. You're new, you're loved, you're bringing happiness to your owner, okay."

He seemed to have her undivided attention, so he softened his tone, and sat beside her, the extravagant dress they'd stuffed her in brushing against his knees. "Think of your childhood, of your favorite doll, of how she made you feel," he explained, glancing at her profile out of the corner of his eye. The script in his hands fluttered for a moment. "The second part isn't happy. You've outgrown your usefulness, no one wants you anymore, your owner has tossed you aside forever, and he's never coming back for you, do you understand?"

The long curls they'd attached to her hair slipped past her jaw as her features softened noticeably.

And suddenly, Shou's brilliant plan seemed totally dangerous. Nevertheless, he flipped a few pages ahead and stood up, full of purpose. "The final part is a fight, Kyouko. You're mad. You're not going to just take it, are you. You go in search of him, you show him what a mistake he's made, you make him regret ever leaving, you show him you're not just a toy anymore. Got it?"

And though Kyouko was possibly the most oblivious person Shou had ever known, she was obviously catching on.

"And _then_ I channel Mio?" she asked tentatively, causing the crewmen around her to exchange paranoid glances.

"No, you idiot, you won't be channeling anyone except this character!" he snapped, foaming at the mouth.

She returned the sentiment by jumping up and grabbing his collar, equally vehement. "What kind of incomprehensible stage directions are those, you sorry excuse for a—"

"Shall we begin filming?" Shouko interjected politely. "After all, this is the only day Mogami-san is available."

A moment of silence later, Shou decided to bugger off to his chair, glaring at the two nearest cameramen. "We're going to have to try to do most of the scenes in one take," he told them, scowling.

Both men nodded, focusing intently on the lavishly decorated set and the fuming ball of lace and frills on the bed. "We'll keep the camera on her at all times."

Shou cracked his knuckles, boring holes into the back of Kyouko's head. "Are you ready?"

She, quite clearly, wasn't, but she turned her head and gave him a confident smirk anyway. "Ready!"

The low whir of equipment signaled the start of the recording session, so Shou concentrated on watching the screen and not obsessively checking on her expression. The speakers came to life with his new song—still mostly unpolished—low and unassuming, and he realized Kyouko hadn't actually heard it yet.

Not that he cared what she thought, of course.

He took a peek over the monitors, observing as the melody swept through her, waited until she processed the lyrics and finally opened her eyes, then queued the song again.

"Um, er, this is the part where you're supposed to look happy, Mogami-san," one of the assistants told her helpfully, fidgeting. "Maybe try smiling at the boy?"

Kyouko looked about with a blink. "What boy?"

If not a galaxy, they would surely name a constellation after him.

Still, Shou let out a put-upon sigh as though it alone could illustrate the magnitude of his suffering, and got up. "We were going to edit one in later, but I suppose I'll just have to play that part for now, won't I?"

She tilted her head, pondering. "You'll play the boy?"

He kicked a few of the pillows that had fallen on the ground out of the way, and crossed his arms, staring her down. "You got a problem with that?"

Flustered, Kyouko glanced around the set, probably searching for her confiscated phone. "You're not exactly how I imagined the—"

Standing in front of her probably shouldn't have felt awkward, and yet... "Don't you have an imagination, idiot? Why do I have to help you out again?"

She flinched a bit, twisting her fingers around the hem of her dress. "Don't do unnecessary things, Shoutaro," she said, not looking at him. "They're hard to repay, and I refuse to be in your debt."

If he felt like fidgeting, it was most definitely not because of her, okay?

"Pudding," he mumbled.

Kyouko looked up. "What?"

"The pudding that I couldn't ask anyone else to buy," he said carefully. "I've missed it."

She was fighting to keep her face unemotional, but there was a soft, friendly smile tugging at her lips. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He tilted his head. "Should I have them bring you one to refresh your memory?"

"No need," she replied, her eyes beginning to shine with a familiar warmth. "It would leave a bad taste in my mouth."

He grabbed a set of cards from the props laid out by the bed, and sat next to her, feeling barely ten years old. "Says the girl that eats worms."

She seemed to finally fall into character, because her smile was blinding. "Ate! Once. Accidentally. And it was technically your fault—"

Someone above them changed the brightness filters, softening the set, and making Shou strangely sleepy. Out of habit, he dealt her a pair of cards, knee lightly touching hers. There was a conversation, he was sure, and he may or may not have ruffled her hair a few times and she may or may not have leaned into him once, but he seemed to blink and it was over—as assistant had told him it had been half an hour and "the footage was excellent," so he waded back to his chair, limbs heavy.

"Impressive," Shouko whispered in his ear. "I'll send her off for a costume change. And you should probably go wash your face."

"Eh?"

Equal parts astounded and melancholy, Shouko rotated the nearest camera to his face.

"Oh," he said once he caught a glance of his expression on screen.

If the old Kyouko was resurfacing bit by bit, the old Shou was rushing back at breakneck speed.

"Unacceptable," he said more to himself than Shouko, then grumpily pushed the camera away.

The set changed as he brooded, and Kyouko spilled out of some dressing room or another, ghosting around in a tattered version of the dress she'd worn before.

"Still better than my L.M.E. overalls!" she announced, striking a ridiculous pose.

One of the assistants guided her to the old set, where lace and frills had been stripped in favor of cobwebs and dilapidated furniture. The song had long been paused, silence filling the half-cubicle.

"Director," Shouko reminded, "Mogami-san is probably waiting for your instructions."

"Hey!" he shouted, running a hand through his hair. "Start acting! We're in a hurry!"

Kyouko sent him an O.K. sign, followed by a stubborn little nod.

With no music to accompany her movement or dialogue to set her mood, Shou wondered what kind of stage directions he was meant to give her. Not that this was a minor hole in his brilliant plan, but...

"Hey, Shoutaro!" she yelled suddenly, her back perfectly straight. "Do you still have the guitar I gave you for your thirteenth birthday?"

Briefly, an image of a cheap guitar flashed before his eyes, the memory of the high E string that had constantly snapped at the bridge, slashing his fingers when he'd played for Kyouko, rose up and he curled his fingers in phantom pain.

"Threw it away, of course. It sucked."

"Of course," she said.

"What an... unusual approach," the cameraman on Shou's right commented, excitedly zooming in on Kyouko's profile.

Someone quickly shushed him.

Shou leaned back, watching the screen.

Weird. His chest was kind of tight.

Well, clearly, he was still suffering from almost choking on that stupid apple or something.

"The script calls for tears," Shouko said, reading through Shou's copy and highlighting sections in a businesslike manner.

"What?" he shifted in his seat, raising an eyebrow. "No, it doesn't."

"I made a few corrections. Please inform Mogami-san."

Shou glared at her for a moment, then focused his hate on the script in Shouko's lap, willing it to catch fire.

Shouko lowered her head slightly, adding, "That, at least, should be easy for you."

Frustrated, Shou fixed his eyes on Kyouko's shoulders.

"You can't just tell her to cry," Shouko continued. "You have to make her cry." She leveled him with a firm look. "If you want this PV to top the charts."

Shou nodded. "Nothing's more important than that."

Without disturbing the cameramen, he slid his chair as close to the set as he could, making sure he wouldn't ruin the shot, and mentally checked off a list of things that could make Kyouko cry. "You can't act!" he tried.

Nothing.

"You'll never beat me!"

"We both know that's not true!"

Shou wrinkled his nose. "Tsuruga sucks!"

A wild, almost frenzied, burst of heat exploded from her, throwing Shou off guard. "What right does an idiot like you have to _even mention Tsuruga-senpai's name_?"

Her words lanced through him, dragging behind them a twisted mass of emotions, so he jumped up, snapping back, "What right do YOU have to call ME an idiot?"

She brushed against a decrepit windowsill, shouting, "Don't EVER dare to say anything bad about Tsuruga-senpai again, you s—"

"Tears, Shou," Shouko coughed discreetly, "not homicide."

"I got a letter from my parents a while ago," he interrupted at once, features darkening.

Kyouko paused.

"Do you know what they said about you?" he asked nonchalantly. She said nothing, so he told her, in a deceptively neutral tone, "They said they're disappointed with what you've done but grateful that you finally left. They were tired of looking at your ugly face."

His ribcage seemed to be shrinking rapidly, pressing against his heart. He brought a hand to his chest, cringing. "Did you really think they wanted you for a daughter?"

He couldn't actually look at her, but the low whir of the camera zoom told him all he needed to know.

Slowly, his arms dropped to his sides as one of the assistants encouraged, "That's good, Mogami-san. Very good."

Shou knew there must have been dozens of people on set, but the silence was suddenly deafening, so he spun on his heel and stalked off under the pretense of changing costumes.

* * *

"I'm a professional," she said calmly, but was eyeing the discarded pillows, possibly in order to suffocate him.

His coat collar was high and upturned as though it, too, was ready for a fight.

"You better be," he replied, glancing at the green screen behind them, hoping she couldn't reach any of the loose wires.

Her wig had been removed, and her costume was more suitable for a vampire than an awakened doll, but Kyouko still managed to look shaken. "Can I hit you?"

He took an involuntary step back. "What?"

"The crying wasn't in the script, either," she murmured, eyebrows drawing together. "So I thought we could improvise."

He couldn't help the grin that insisted on playing about his lips. "Who said you were allowed creative control over this project?"

She grabbed him by his lapels, fingers tightening around the dark material. "You said you wanted a fight," she smiled evilly.

His skin prickled. "I told you not to channel Mi—"

He went flying into the green screen before he could form the next syllable.

"NO DAMAGING THE EQUIPMENT!" one of the technicians shrieked.

Sheepish, Kyouko bowed repeatedly, rubbing the back of her neck.

Shou dug himself out, dusting off his long coat. "Yeah, okay, I'll be sending a bill to L.M.E."

Kyouko's eyes widened adorably.

To his horror, Shou found his hands reaching out for her of their own volition, then quickly forced himself to take another step back, demanding, "Where are the damn special effects?"

A puff of air came from the smoke machine by their feet, and soon, a thick fog was rising toward their faces, the lighting turned apocalyptic, and the screen behind them remained green though Shou could almost imagine they were standing on the brink of some steep precipice, facing off one last time.

Kyouko seemed to be picturing something similar, because her face grew ghostly and, honestly, totally creepy. "Wait."

He blinked as her fingers lightly brushed over his hair, parting his bangs to the side.

"Okay, I fixed it. We can start."

And while Shou was busy feeling warm all over, Kyouko's mood changed drastically. Her posture signaled imminent danger, her black coat billowed in the breeze, and her eyes were almost unrecognizable.

"Yes!" an assistant yelled over the noise of various machines, "keep doing that! Like in the last PV!"

And then the instructions started blurring together as Kyouko faced off against Shou. Okay, last time, he'd been unprepared for the mixture of regret and despair in her eyes, the misery of her determined smile, the gentle punishment in her touch, but surely this time—this time—

"Cut!"

"No one gets to yell cut except for me!" he lashed out, tensing.

"No, of course not, but we're not filming a remake of the last PV," Shouko informed him, turning directly to Kyouko. "This is a beginning, Mogami-san, not an ending."

Several emotions seemed to be warring on Kyouko's face, and then she finally settled on a cheerful, "Okay!"

Shou swallowed.

The special effects resumed—the wind and the smoke and the dramatic lighting—and Kyouko's hands were suddenly on his shoulders. For a brief moment, there was an almost familiar feeling of being welcomed home, and then he was flung against a prop ledge, the styrofoam digging into his back.

"It's a beautiful song," she told him, and though he could barely hear her, he stilled beneath her.

She was obviously having an allergic reaction to him, forced to be this close, but she pressed on, producing a pleased little smile. "If you keep this up, you'll definitely climb to the top."

He remained motionless beneath her, unable to think. And though this was decidedly not part of his plan, he figured no one, not even Kyouko, would hear.

"There's no reason to climb to the top if you're not there waiting for me."

* * *

"The raw emotion," his editor raved. "The fierce struggle. The passion! I can work _magic_ with this!"

Shou smirked haughtily, leaning back.

The editing room was empty save for this weird little man, but Shou felt as though the whole world was watching him.

"Who _is_ this girl?" the editor asked absentmindedly, twisting knobs and pressing keys.

Shou didn't feel the need to answer him. Instead, he sprawled in his chair, putting his hands behind his head. If an editor couldn't keep his eyes off Kyouko—after having to view the same scenes countless times—Shou's PV would certainly annihilate any competition that dared challenge his status.

So, sure, he was doing her and her crazy agency a favor by featuring her so prominently in his video, giving her all this free promotion and stuff, but like he'd told her—he was going to make room for both of them at the top.

And more importantly, for a whole day, Kyouko's mind was filled with nothing but Shou. She was probably still analyzing his every word, his every look, his every move. She was absolutely focused on _him_. He could feel it. And it made his bones feel elastic.

He stretched in his chair, grinning. "Make sure you call me when it's finished."

"I could have a rough copy done by tonight," the editor beamed, smiling stupidly at a frozen image of Kyouko's laughing face.

Shou's grin grew. "Good. I'd like to personally deliver it to this one asshole."

And, if necessary, force Tsuruga to watch it on repeat.

Lazily, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a thin Shiseido compact. He turned it a few times, flipped it open, then clicked it closed, a wicked grin threatening to split his face in two.

How unfortunate it was that he'd forgotten to give it to Kyouko.

And what an imposition it was to have to go bring it to her now.

Shou stood up, arranging his features into a clever smile.

After all, his brilliant plan deserved a brilliant conclusion.


End file.
